A month before he died my grandfather
ate lamb chops. Long past the point
at which politeness matters, he picked
up the pieces with his fingers, gnawing
frantically down to the bone, determined
to get at whatever was left. And as
he lay later in his hospital bed he said
it was the happiest he’d ever been.
If only we could all receive gifts like these –
going to the unknown with only the bones;
no hint of unfinished meat; a life consumed
with gusto, its flavour truly savoured.
